


Wouldn’t it be Nice

by peachcitt



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Comfort, M/M, basically this is a cabin fic, but there’s hope too, i mean. the typical sort of angst when there’s an apocalypse happening, pre mag161, taking place post apocalypse pre goin out to kick jonny magma’s ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24054733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachcitt/pseuds/peachcitt
Summary: “If we weren’t involved in all the fear and the apocalypse and the whatever. What do you think we would’ve done?”“Hm,” Jon said.“I hope we would’ve gone on a date,” Martin said.orno thoughts head full of wouldn't it be nice by the beach boys (1966) ft. the apocalypse and jonmartin
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 4
Kudos: 82





	Wouldn’t it be Nice

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy :)

Night and day didn’t really exist anymore - what with the whole world-ending, never-ending suffering thing happening - but Martin liked some semblance of structure in his life. Keeping time is difficult, but he measures it in how long he was willing to let Jon mope until he got sick of it for the day. He’s pretty sure he’s got it down to a set schedule now. He’s not sure if he’s happy about that or not.

At night - or what Martin has decided ‘night’ is for that expanse of time - he and Jon lay together on the bed they began sharing back before the world ended. He wraps his arms around Jon’s waist, and Jon tucks his knees up close to their chests, impossibly curled up. Like he’s trying his hardest to disappear into Martin’s embrace.

Martin tries to sleep, and sometimes he does, but there’s no relief tied to the action. Jon doesn’t sleep at all.

“I belong here,” he hears Jon say one night when he thinks Martin is sleeping. “In this world of blood and rot and suffering. I created this world, and I belong in it more than any of the poor souls I doomed to it.” His voice is quiet, as if he’s admitting something he’s thought many times before but has never said aloud. Martin opens his eyes.

Jon is tucked tightly in Martin’s arms, knobby fingers curled into fists, and he is crying. His eyes are distant, far away, and Martin doesn’t even want to think about what he might be seeing.

“I belong here,” Jon says again, but it’s more of a sob this time, and Martin brings a hand up and wipes the tears away from Jon’s far away eyes. Jon startles, and Martin sees the moment he comes back to here, now.

“You belong here,” Martin says, and Jon’s expression breaks, but Martin shakes his head. “You belong here,” Martin repeats, “in my arms.”

It’s cheesy enough to make Jon let out a half-startled, half-bemused scoff, and Martin takes that as a victory. 

He leans in, pressing his forehead to Jon’s. “But, really, Jon, do you think you belong with all of that out there?” he asks, lifting an arm to gesture toward the window in the room, the window that had the blinds shut and the curtains pulled tight, just like every other window in the cabin.

“I made this,” Jon starts, but Martin shakes his head.

“No, all the entities made this, _ Elias  _ made this. They used you.”

Jon stays quiet, but Martin gets the feeling that he’s still thinking something stupid. He doesn’t have to have Jon’s  _ knowing  _ power to know that. He can see it in the downward tug of Jon’s lips, the little line between his eyebrows.

“The people out there don’t deserve this, of course,” Martin starts, tracing a crescent moon under Jon’s eye with his thumb. “But neither do you. They deserve to live in a boring, normal world, and you…” He trailed off, feeling a lot of emotions churn around in his chest. “You deserve the same thing. You’re a boring, normal guy who belongs in a boring, normal world.”

“A boring, normal guy who started the apocalypse,” Jon said skeptically.

“Any boring, normal guy can start an apocalypse,” Martin said, and Jon snorted. “You just got unlucky.”

“Thanks, Martin,” Jon said, and Martin knew he meant it sarcastically, but he looked a little more full, a little less like he was wasting away. He pressed a kiss to Jon’s forehead, and he thought about life in a boring, normal world.

  
  


-

  
  


At the beginning of the apocalypse, Martin kept on hoping that one day, he’d wake up and everything would’ve just been a prolonged nightmare. But now, he knew waking up meant waking up in the same apocalypse he fell asleep in. It had crushed him, a little, to wake up one day and realize he hadn’t looked around with that strange hope for a new day residing low in his chest. It had left him so listless and empty that even Jon, so caught up in the world and the knowing, noticed.

He’d pulled Martin over to sit with him on the couch, shifting so that he was facing him completely. He ran his knobby fingers over the stubble growing over Martin’s cheeks and looked at him with concern that was so  _ present  _ that Martin felt like crying. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Jon had said, wiping the pads of his fingertips under Martin’s eyes because he  _ did  _ actually cry.

“We’re living in the apocalypse, Jon,” Martin had said with a dry laugh because admitting to Jon that he had been harboring something like hope for so long in all this mess felt a little embarrassing.

“Well, yes,” Jon conceded, “but normally you aren’t so upset about it.”

“I’m upset about it all the time,” Martin said, but Jon shook his head.

“But not like this.”

“I…” Martin took a deep breath. He shook his head. He felt something that was almost like a smile pull at his lips. “Do you ever wonder what we would’ve done if. If all this hadn’t happened?”

Jon furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Like if the apocalypse hadn’t happened, and we were just hiding out in the cabin like regular insubordinate employees.”

“But,” Jon said, his eyebrows furrowing deeper, “Elias still would’ve found a way-“

“I don’t mean that,” Martin said, shaking his head. “I mean like. If we weren’t involved in all the fear and the apocalypse and the whatever. What do you think we would’ve done?”

“Hm,” Jon said. It seemed this was not in his regular territory of thought-exercises.

“I hope we would’ve gone on a date,” Martin said. “Gone out to dinner, or something. Bickered over the popcorn and whether or not to share a drink. Kissed each other goodnight before heading home.”

The thought seemed to pain Jon. “Martin,” he said, and Martin could hear the regret and the guilt and the suffering that Jon was made of now. “I can’t,” he said, his voice breaking. “I can’t think of- of things that are. That are  _ normal  _ and  _ good _ because I’m just.” He stopped, and he moved the hand that had been on Martin’s cheek to press the tears out of his own eyes. “I’m just not strong enough,” he finally said. “To think of things that we’ll never have.”

“Okay,” Martin said. He leaned forward, pulling Jon into a hug that Jon returned fiercely as if he needed it to breathe. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I know,” Jon said, his fingers curling into fists in the back of Martin’s sweater. “I’m sorry that I can’t…”

“It’s alright,” Martin said, and he pulled away just enough to press a kiss to Jon’s lips. “Thanks for hearing me out anyway.”

Jon nodded, returning the kiss slowly and gently. They cradled each other carefully, shielding each other from all the hurt around them, and Jon pulled away, leaning his head on Martin’s shoulder. 

“It would’ve been nice,” he said into Martin’s neck, voice soft and sad. He didn’t clarify, but Martin knew what he meant. He felt something new blossom in his chest, a new feeling that was almost like hope.

  
  


-

  
  


Jon wasn’t ready, Martin knew that. He needed more time to adjust and process the apocalypse and all that came with it, and that was alright. But for Martin - he’d realized that new almost-hope he’d felt was really just fight. He wanted to fight for the world, for himself, for Jon. Because he really wanted to live in a normal, boring world where he could go on dates and actually get a satisfying night of sleep for once, and he wasn’t ready to accept that that boring world was gone forever.

So he packed a bag, a bag of essentials, and he stowed it away for when Jon was ready to fight with him.

He pulled Jon away from the couch where he was listening to those old tapes, and he dragged him up to the bed and forced him to lay down. “We’re resting now,” he told Jon when he tried to protest. “It’s nighttime.”

“There is no night anymore,” Jon replied, contrary as ever, and Martin rolled his eyes. He held his arms out, and Jon pursed his lips. He laid down in Martin’s arms.

“Nighttime is when we say it is now,” Martin said, brushing Jon’s hair away from his face. “And right now, I’m saying it’s nighttime.”

“Fine, fine,” Jon grumbled, and Martin continued running his fingers through his hair. Jon sighed in something that was as close to content as he could get, all things considered.

“Now isn’t that nice?” Martin said, aware that he was being obnoxious, but too full of this newfound fight to do anything about it.

Jon made a sound in his throat, scooting himself closer to Martin.

Martin smiled, soft and buzzing. “Goodnight, Jon,” he said, like he sometimes did before attempting sleep, but Jon shook his head, looking at Martin with eyes full of everything that this world was now.

“Could you just… talk to me, please?” Jon asked, voice quiet and small. “About anything, I don’t care. As long as it’s something.”

“Okay,” Martin said gently, pressing a soft kiss to Jon’s forehead. He started talking - just retelling a story that he’d started reading before all of this. He’d only gotten midway through the book, so when he got to the part he left off, he just made up the rest. 

Jon listened to him, sometimes interrupting, but always listening, and Martin watched him relax, just a little, as he listened. Martin talked, he ran his fingers through Jon’s hair, and he waited for when Jon was ready to fight.

It would be a new day, then, and it’s a new day that Martin is looking forward to.

**Author's Note:**

> hello everybody i didn’t anticipate my second tma fic to happen so soon after the last but i was in a Mood while laying on my bed staring at the ceiling and wouldn’t it be nice by the beach boys (1966) was playing on loop in my head and here we are
> 
> it’s 6am now and im really hoping this isn’t a trend of mine when it comes to writing jonmartin yearning
> 
> thank u for reading i love u goodnight<3<3<3


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